


Just Say “Hey, I Wanna”

by aidennestorm



Category: My Brother My Brother and Me (Podcast), Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Banter, Consent Issues, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Childhood Trauma, In-Jokes, Incest, Infidelity, M/M, McElroy Family, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, everyone has a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidennestorm/pseuds/aidennestorm
Summary: What happened when the brothers went to Milwaukee?(Inspired by Episode 262: Where Everybody Flies a Plane.)
Relationships: Griffin McElroy/Justin McElroy, Griffin McElroy/Justin McElroy/Travis McElroy, Griffin McElroy/Travis McElroy, Justin McElroy/Travis McElroy
Comments: 21
Kudos: 63





	Just Say “Hey, I Wanna”

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t do a hit, and don’t send this to the brothers or anyone else involved with them/the show. Thanks y’all.

Milwaukee goes wrong from the moment the McElroy clan (the touring arm of it, at least) steps out of their respective taxis into a darkening sky. 

It’s like something out of one of the awful fanfictions Griffin likes to joke about on the show. The hotel fucks up their reservations with only two rooms held instead of three, and no resolution until morning. Charlie is fussy and refuses to leave Sydnee’s side. _Everyone_ is hungry and thirsty and exhausted, and it only takes one too many snarky quips between Travis and Griffin and Justin for a collective sister-in-law agreement to banish them to their own room for the night.

Travis mutters over his laptop as he finishes sorting through audience questions for the next morning’s live show. Griffin paces and scrolls through his phone. 

Justin—

Well. Justin decides to walk the smashed path. The margarita coolers land harder than usual; it’s only after he sucks two down in quick succession that he feels the hit of wooziness that forces him to close his eyes.

“This blows,” he mumbles to the air around him and the darkness behind his eyelids. “I could be enjoying these on a fucking beach right now with my wife, or at the _very least_ in a fucking bed.”

He huffs a laugh. “Fucking bed. Ha, I wish.”

“Should we give you special alone time?”

It’s Griffin’s voice, slightly muffled. Years of working over microphones and headsets has attuned Justin’s hearing, and he knows where Griffin is immediately (back to the room, standing in the small foyer behind the door).

Justin rubs at his forehead, trying to focus past the dizziness. “Where would you be, exactly?”

“Us?” Travis asks, sounding bemused. “How about _you_ lock yourself in the bathroom for a few?”

It’s… not a _bad_ idea, all things considered, but when Justin tries to pull himself out of the chair, his wobbly limbs decide to revolt. He sinks back into the pleather, head falling back in a despairing groan. “‘M too drunk for this. I can’t stand.”

In an abrupt moment, there’s silence. No clacking of keys or shuffling feet, only the distant sounds of the city and the too loud pounding of Justin’s heart.

“Would you… like help?” Travis’s voice cracks high on the last word; it would earn some merciless teasing about a second puberty, if he didn’t sound so damn _sincere._

Before Justin can think beyond a confused _What?,_ Griffin clears his throat. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly, a little strangled. Then, more sure, “Yeah. I’m down for that.”

There’s movement, and noise, and then it’s like the air _shifts_ around Justin’s chair from nothing to _everything,_ the heat of bodies moving into his space. His eyes shoot open at the faintest brush of hands against the waistband of his shorts, only to see both of his brothers kneeling in front of him, staring at him, Griffin the one whose touch is hovering over him. 

They look… stunned. More than a little disbelieving. But not regretful. 

Resolute.

Justin swallows. His mouth is suddenly dry, his tongue thick. “I thought I was the only one drinking,” he croaks.

“We just want to help,” Travis says softly. He worries the corner of his lower lip between his teeth. “We don’t have to.”

Justin takes a quick breath. Another. And then—

Then he’s lifting his hips and tugging at his clothes, squirming out of shorts and boxers in one graceless movement as the fabric pools around his knees.

Griffin frowns. It’s a gut-punch of horror that tears right into Justin, until the next merciful second when Griffin spits into his own hand and wraps it around Justin’s dick. “Hefty boy, Juice.”

Justin shudders, pressing up into the touch. “Grossarooni.”

“I’m touching your dick and the _spit_ is what you have a problem with?”

 _“Fuck_ — fuck you,” Justin stammers, breathless, as Travis laughs brightly.

“Seems like the reverse is happening.”

What’s _happening_ is the guilt churning inside him like an illicit pint of luxury ice cream. Like a plate of perfectly crisp, seasoned fries. Indulgent, shameful, but… not _quite_ like a cheat. He loves Sydnee, strong and terrifying and _forever._ But his brothers are just… _part_ of him, the same blood, the same nerves, like a limb— 

_Or a hand,_ he thinks, laughing a little wildly. 

Travis blinks at him, draws close, and carefully— chastely— kisses him square on the lips. 

_“Hey,”_ Griffin murmurs, as Justin’s mind reels under the soft pressure. “We’ve got you.”

After Travis pulls away, Justin can’t help but ask the question weighing on him, his voice weak to his own ears under the waves of pleasure that drown him. “This isn’t… it’s not gonna be weird, right?”

“Have you _met_ us? We exude weird like it’s sweat.”

Griffin elbows Travis, who immediately yelps. “Not weird,” Griffin contradicts. “Something we will never talk about again, yes, but—”

“We’re still brothers,” Travis adds.

Justin chokes back his moan, his eyes involuntarily slipping shut as he comes over Griffin’s hand— the hand that’s punched him, slapped him, held his own hand, squeezed tight when it felt like nothing would be okay ever again. When Griffin finally slows and stops stroking him, they’re all frozen in place.

Griffin swallows; Justin hears every movement of his brother’s throat over the satisfied hum of his body. “I thought I’d be flaccid forever but—”

“Don’t you do it,” Justin warns, struggling and failing to keep a biting grin from his face. “Don’t you _dare_ compare me to Pam-body-Garf-head.”

Now that Griffin’s mentioned it, Justin has to _look,_ and is rewarded with an answering hardness tenting Griffin’s dark jeans _and_ Travis’s plaid sleep pants. His voice is rough when he asks, “Are you two just gonna stand there, or am I returning the favor?”

“Technically we’re kneeling,” Travis retorts, breaking the unspoken standoff first. But he gets to his feet and pulls down his pants and boxer briefs— and _wow,_ _okay,_ Justin is kind of jealous right now because his brother’s longer, thicker dick is downright perfect. It seems so simple, inevitable, to just lick a wet stripe across his palm and take it in hand. 

Travis hisses a curse, knees trembling a little as he reaches out to put a hand on Griffin’s shoulder to steady himself. Griffin rises to meet him, eyes flashing as he frees his decidedly non-flaccid dick and presses it into Justin’s other hand. “You’re not the only Juice in the family.”

 _“Griffin!”_ Travis groans, sounding both scandalized and delighted. Griffin’s right; he _is_ naturally slick with precome, and Justin can’t help but shiver. He drives them higher, relishing their heft and weight and heat, and waits until Travis and Griffin’s mouths meet in a messy kiss before twisting his wrists in a way that makes them both stutter and jerk into his hands.

A scant few weeks later, Justin has the warmth of his brothers around him again, Griffin next to him and Travis’s voice in his ears. He’s honest when he complains about them sometimes being too close, explaining to the microphone, “Cause we have to go into some places that require me to be rather free with my own sort of psyche and sexuality, just like removing all the barriers…”

Just as Griffin chimes in with a resounding “Yeah—”

—there’s Travis’s excited voice, when he pushes ahead despite all unspoken, implied warnings to the contrary. _“Like when we went to Milwaukee.”_

(Griffin leaves in the sudden silence during editing, and Justin is going to slowly, gleefully, _kill his brothers._

And kiss and touch them again. 

Maybe that too.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to John Roderick and the Long Winters for the unauthorized use of their theme song “(It’s A) Departure” in the title of this fic, and thanks to the brothers McElroy for all the good good content— including too many sexual jokes about each other and mentions of fanfic written about them to count. This was only a matter of time.


End file.
